


Hunger Pains

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Series: The Art Of Being Found [2]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Complete, Food Issues, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mama Bear Tony Stark, Past Child Abuse, Past Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Stark - Freeform, Precious Peter Parker, Prompt Fic, Protective Tony Stark, Sad Peter Parker, Starvation, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Worried Tony Stark, dad tony, son peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 10:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: In the days following Peter’s return home, Tony finds that he absolutely cannot get his child to eat.Anything.So, like any concerned parent, he asks about it.What he finds out in respond makes his whole world turn upside-down.





	Hunger Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!:D I hope you enjoy this fic and expect much more in the up-in-coming weeks because I’m finally out of school and I am FREE!:)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

* * *

 

It has only been three days since Peter had found his way home.

  
In those three days he had managed to settle back into a real home, had managed to get a real shower and wear real, soft clothes. He had only cried for a second after putting on the shirt and pants, Tony watching him from the doorway as he wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed, the exhilarating feeling of the cotton against his scarred skin causing a sob to bubble up.

  
The genius held Peter as he shook against his chest. His boy’s shuttering cries tore at his heart, and Tony can only hold him closer, muttering sweet words of comfort into his ear and running soothing hands down his trembling back.

  
Everything was finally beginning to look up for the both of them. Peter is safe and home. Too bad the major issues were only just coming to light.

 

* * *

 

 “Okay kiddo, what’s up?”

  
His Dad’s voice startles Peter, his small gasp of surprise leaving him unbidden as he drops his fork back onto his plate. His chicken sits, practically untouched, beside a heaping pile of potatoes and green beans, all of which were getting shoved around and mashed together into mush. Peter internally recoils at the sight.

  
“W-what do you mean?” The teen asks, trying in vain to meet his father’s narrowed eyes as the man walks over from the kitchen.

  
Tony frowns as he gets nearer, eyeing his child’s still full plate in mild surprise and worry, having fully expected for Peter to be on his second or third serving by now.

  
“You haven’t been eating, Peter. Want to tell me why, bud?”

  
Taking the vacant seat beside his son, the billionaire gently reaches over, tilting his boy’s chin up when he starts to glance down, as though ashamed. Peter scowls at his lap, his puppy eyes not even flickering in Tony’s direction as he glowers at himself.

  
“It’s n-nothing Dad. I just haven’t been hungry, that’s all.”

  
Making a small _tutting_ sound at the obvious lie, Tony cups his kid’s face in his warm hands, gently brushing his thumbs across Peter’s temples and relishing in the steady thump of the pulse under his fingers. The young Stark leans into the touch instinctively, letting his doe eyes slip shut even as his stomach grumbles and groans at the smell of the food right under his nose. He forcefully pushes the feeling away with a twinge of regret.

  
His dad’s voice, however, makes him blink his eyes back open, squinting against the soft yellow light overhead. “Can you at least eat half the plate, kiddie?”

  
Peter swallows, hands clenching in his lap as he resist the urge to grab onto his father for comfort. “I can’t.”

  
“Why not Pete?”

  
Frustration clings to the boy, his head reeling as he struggles for an answer that doesn’t sound crazy. “I just can’t Dad, please don’t make me.”

  
Tony let’s out a huff, hands coming to rest on his child’s shoulders, the cut of bones under his palms causing him to hold back a shudder. “No one is making you do anything buddy. I’m just asking that you eat _something_ , at least one more bite of chicken, please?”

  
“No.”

  
Tony feels a hot flash of anger. “You’re not leaving this table until you eat more, you hear me Peter?”

  
Peter just stubbornly shakes his head, his eyes blazing as he snaps his head up, glaring at his father even as traitorous tears make his vision blurry. “You can’t make me!”

  
“Try me! For every second we sit here you have to eat another bite.” Glancing at his silver watch, the Billionaire tries in vain to shove down his frustration when Peter doesn’t even try to pick up his fork again. “You’re up to five bites now kiddie, I would hurry up before we make it to six.”

  
But instead of relenting and _finally_ eating, all his boy does is push him away, crossing his pajama clad arms across his chest and blinking his doe eyes rapidly. Tony feels helplessness settle into his gut, his concern getting masked with anger as he suddenly stands, his chair scrapping across the floor with a screech.

  
“Fine! You want to act like a baby, you can get treated like one!” Pointing with a shaking finger at the plate, Tony watches as Peter seems to shrink back into himself with each word and gesture. “All this food will be eaten in the next five minutes or I swear to God, Peter Anthony Stark, you’ll only see the ceiling of your room for the next month!”

  
Suddenly rising, the boy almost trips over his chair in his haste, Tony forgetting for a second his anger and grabbing onto his child’s arm as Peter rocks backwards. Peter, body shuddering with a sob, suddenly rips his arm away, his face twisting into a expression so agonized that the superhero feels his lungs hitch and his blood freeze.

  
“Why are you doing this!?”

  
“ _Why am I doing this?!_ ” Tony repeats incredibly, feeling his confusion and helplessness rise. “Why the _fuck_ do you think I’m doing this Peter?”

  
Peter doesn’t answer, and Tony feels his heart break as the boy wraps his arms around himself, clutching his sleeves in his hands and squeezing his doe eyes shut. His chin slips down to his chest, breath hitching and that’s the last straw for Tony. Striding over, the man gently but forcefully grips his kid’s cheeks, feeling the heat slide against his calloused palms.

  
“Look at me, Petey-Pie.” He whispers, tone urging but soft. Gentle.

  
It takes a second, a gut lurching second, but finally Peter meets his gaze again, the tears that were pooling in the chocolate colored orbs finally slipping free and sliding down his red cheeks. His breath puffs out, chest rising and falling rapidly and his pulse fluttering under his father’s soft hands as the man gently brushes the salty water away.

  
“I’m doing this—“ Tony says, voice going into the same light range specifically reserved for his child. “—because I _love_ you, baby. I love you _so much_ that it hurts, and to see you this way—to see you so _skinny_ and _scared_ all the time—it just breaks my heart.”

  
Tony feels his kid shudder, his small hands suddenly wrapping around the man’s waist and squeezing with enough force to crack the superhero’s back. Tony wraps his own arms around his child, pressing kisses to the top of his head and feeling his unruly hair tickle the billionaire’s nose.

  
“I-I’m sorry Daddy.” Peter whispers, and Tony has to swallow down bile, guilt making his stomach churn.

  
“No, no sweetheart don’t apologize, okay? I’m not mad, I’m just—“ Pausing to let out a harsh breath, the genius continues, gripping his boy tighter. “—worried about you. I don’t understand why you won’t eat, buddy. Please, _please_ help me understand, Peter.”

  
The boy seems to contemplate the question for a few seconds, nuzzling even further against the man and Tony has to hold back a snarl, loathing the feeling of his child’s ribs against his stomach and hating the helplessness that grips his heart.

  
“I-I want to eat.” Peter finally says, voice so small and timid that Tony can barely hear him above the sound of his own pounding pulse. “I want to eat so _badly_ Dad, _I’m so hungry_.”

  
“Then why don’t you, kiddie?”

  
Peter seems to struggle for an answer, his mouth opening and closing like a fish and his hands entangling in Tony’s shirt, stretching out the fabric as he tugs. The billionaire just starts to rock them back and forth, one hand running through his son’s soft curls and the other holding him tighter against his chest.

  
“ _They_ didn’t l-let me—“ Peter finally responds, voice wobbling and eyes welling with tears once more. “—eat, I mean. They said t-that being full m-makes you lazy and they could _not_ have laziness. You must work all day and night. Never talk back or look up—“

  
Tony suddenly cuts his boy off with a growl, his blood boiling at the very idea of these vile lies getting shoved into his child’s ears, of what those _creatures_ had brainwashed Peter into believing for all those years, and at _himself_ —for not trying harder to find his kid and bring him home.

  
“ _Shh. Shh._ You’re not there anymore, Pete. You’re here and you’re safe and you can eat all you want and more, buddy. Hell, start eating the furniture for all I care!” Tony smiles softly when Peter lets out a giggle, the sound muffled against his chest. His next words, however, are completely serious. “Just, _please_ for the love of Jarvis, don’t _ever_ think you have to starve yourself to earn _anything_ from me, baby. I would tear down the whole world just to see you smile.”

  
Peter let’s out a sound like a cross between a whine and a sob, his thin shoulders jumping as his little body shakes. Tony just carefully leads them back over to the table, settling down in Peter’s chair and gently pulling the still sobbing boy into his arms.

  
They stay like that for quite a while.

  
When Peter finally peaks his head back out, his brown eyes tired and his curls even more messy than normal, Tony gently kisses his temple, settling his child back into his own chair and grabs his still full plate, popping it into the microwave and hitting **START**. They both watch as the food gets spun around, the only sound being the whirl of the machine and their own combined breathing.

  
Once the microwave beeps does Tony set the now steaming food down in front of Peter again, watching as the boy licks his lips, the growling of his stomach audible.

  
“Are you hungry, Petey-Pie?” The genius asks, watching in satisfaction as his kid immediately picks up his discarded fork with renewed enthusiasm.

  
This time, he doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

  
Then Peter eats. Not the whole plate. Not even a quarter of the plate. By the time the boy sets down his silverware for the final time that night, Tony can count on one hand how many bites his child ate before it become too much.

  
And that’s okay.

  
That’s _good_.

  
Because Tony knows how hard this was, how much of a challenge it was for Peter to even admit how much eating was a struggle, to even begin to dive into the healing pool and come up for air in the shallow end. The genius knows that this isn’t the end, not by a long shot.

  
But if getting his son to eat a little bit of chicken and potatoes is considered a good day, then Tony is going to make every single bite taken after that count as a miracle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!:D Kudos and Comments make my day!;)


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